


Grey, with a hint of blue.

by Eyl (Starstreak)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brain Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Metaphors, Permanent Injury, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starstreak/pseuds/Eyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was missing the right sort of grey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is perhaps the weirdest fanfiction I've ever written, so watch out. 
> 
> ...And if you don't like it, please don't eat me. *hides*
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine. John is not mine. All characters are not mine, despite my wishful thinking.  
> Full credit to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and then to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and BBC for the modern-version. This fanfiction is for enjoyment only, no money is being made off it.

The world was grey. Grey skies, grey rainclouds, grey buildings, rain that looked grey by reflection.  
The carpet was grey, an old, deep grey, long past its prime of life. The blankets were grey, wool, thick, cozy warm but so very grey.  
The walls were white, but they should've been grey.  
The grey was everywhere now.  
  
Had his old room been grey? He couldn't remember.  
  
He sighed as he sat down, settling back into the worn-down (grey?) armchair and fixing a dull gaze on the window.  
  
Something important had happened. Very important. Life-changing important. All-one-can-think-about important.  
  
He couldn't remember why he wasn't thinking about it. Was it something good? He didn't think so. It felt sad. Perhaps. Or...  
  
Grey.  
  
The door opened, and a woman entered, the cheerful one, the sunshine one, the always one. Always everyday. But it wasn't sunshine everyday. Today wasn't sunshine. Why hadn't she brought sunshine with her? It was so grey out.  
  
She smiled him that smile, that.. that bright one, the bright one with the hint of something.. something grey. Something... rain? Rainbow. Sunshine, with a hint of rain. Rainbow.  
He couldn't remember why sunshine and rain equaled rainbow. Was that important?  
  
She spoke to him, words, bright words. "Good morning, John. How are you feeling?"  
He looked up at her, letting his gaze follow her as she crossed the room and sat down in the other chair. The good chair. Good people sat there. Good people like.. grey? Was today good?  
  
"Good." He said white. No, not white. Blank. Neutral. Flat. Not grey.  
Why couldn't it be grey?  
  
Perhaps not. Perhaps today wasn't good. Should he have said fine?  
She smiled, though. Sunshine. He liked sunshine. But grey. Rainbow today, then.  
  
"No more headaches?"  
Had he said that? No. No, he wouldn't ask about headaches. But, he would. In.. in, doctor. He was... He helped people. Why did he help people? Was that rainbow?  
The woman's smile was raining more, now. Less sunshine. More grey.  
  
"John."  
  
John. Who was John? Everyone always seemed to be looking for him. He wondered why. John must have been an awfully important person if everyone wanted to see him so badly.  
Was John important? Was he sad-important? Maybe he was supposed to be thinking about him.  
  
"John, do you understand what I asked?"  
  
Asked? What had she asked?  
Words. He needed words, now. Talking. "Asked?"  
  
"Yes, John. I asked if you had anymore headaches."  
Headaches. Head aches. Head ached? Head. Ache. Hurt. Head hurt. No, no more hurt. He found words again, hesitantly. "No. Head... fine."  
  
The rain was back, now. Never had left, though. But worse now.  
Water. It was water. Lots of water. Pounding, water. Trailing down windows.  
  
"That's good. Tell me if your head starts to hurt again, alright? Even if it's just a little, we want to fix it before it turns into a migraine again."  
  
Blue. Water was blue. Or at least, so he thought. But that must have been wrong. This water wasn't blue.  
Blue was different. Different from grey. If rain were blue, it wouldn't be overwhelming. It would be good. Good, blue, grey. Blue with grey. Grey, with a hint of blue.  
That was good. Grey with a hint of blue. It reminded him of something. Something good. Something very good.  
  
Was that sad-important? It felt like it might be. Very sad-important. Should he be thinking about it?  
He had been thinking about it. Well, grey. He had been thinking about grey.  
  
"Are you listening, John?"  
  
Where was the grey? He missed the grey. But not this grey, this was the wrong grey, this grey had no blue.  
He wanted the right grey back. The right grey had been gone an awfully long time. So long, too much wrong grey.  
  
There was a sigh. Weary. The sunshine was leaving again. No more sunshine. He had done something to make it rain, he knew. Something grey.  
  
Was it his fault, then? But he wanted the grey so badly. The right grey. All the grey he found here was wrong.  
He had to keep trying.  
  
The sunshine stood up. No, not sunshine. Rain. The rain stood up. She was leaving, then. He had made it rain. She didn't like it. She didn't like the grey. She didn't like his grey.  
  
Sad.  
  
"I'll check in on you again this evening, John. Try to get some rest."  
Rest. He didn't want rest. Rest was... dull. Sleeping was dull.  
The grey liked dull. Or.. saying dull. Not dull. But saying dull.  
  
The sunshine-rain left the room. All grey again. All grey.  
Grey was better than sunshine.


	2. Iced Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Kete and Oni for commenting!

Sometimes, the blank man visited.  
Suit, tie, hair, pocket watch, umbrella. Smile of iced fire.  
He didn't like the blank man.  
"How are you doing, John?"  
Blank man reminded him of grey.  
Blank man wasn't grey.  
Blank man... hurt grey.  
There was silence. He could feel the blank man looking at him. It seemed grey. But not grey.  
"John."  
Calm voice. Fake voice.  
There was a.. sound. Familiar.  
The blank man frowned, and glanced at... phone? Phone.  
Sound. Phone. Call?  
No.. not call. Letters. Letters?  
He searched for words, found them, lost them, silence.  
The blank man put away the phone with a delicate sigh, and stood.  
Leaving, then. Always short. Never stayed long. But this was quick.  
"Farewell, Doctor Watson."  
Watson... familiar. Was he Watson? Did grey like Watson?  
Grey... Watson...  
Tired.  
Footsteps. A door opened and closed, somewhere. Far-off telly. Voices.  
He yawned, and curled up in his chair.  
Darkness.  
\----  
 **Text from S. 6:23pm:** In airport. On my way.  
 **Text from MH 6:23pm:** Glad to hear it. Text me when you arrive. I'll send a car.  
 **Text from S. 6:24pm:** No need. I'll take a cab back to Baker street.  
 **Text from MH 6:25pm:** You may not want to go straight to Baker street, Sherlock.  
 **Text from S. 6:25pm:** ..Why not?  
 **Text from S. 6:27pm:** Mycroft, answer me!  
 **Text from MH 6:27pm:** I will explain when you arrive in London.  
 **Text from S. 6:28pm:** Too long. Tell me now.  
 **Text from MH 6:29pm:** No.  
 **Text from S. 6:29pm:** It's about John, isn't it? What's wrong with him?  
 **Text from S. 6:30pm:** Mycroft.  
 **Text from MH 6:31pm:** As I said, I will explain when you return.  
 **Text from S. 6:32pm:** I don't have time for this. Tell me what's going on, or I'll find out from other sources.  
 **Text from MH 6:33pm:** ...I don't think you will.  
 **Text from S. 6:33pm:** Fine. If you won't tell me, I'm sure Molly Hooper will be willing to talk.  
 **Text from MH 6:34pm:** Good luck.  
\----  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:35pm:** What aren't you telling me?  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:37pm:** Sherlock? Is that you?  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:37pm:** Of course it's me. Answer the question.  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:38pm:** I don't know what you mean.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:38pm:** Tell me what's wrong with John. Don't lie.  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:39pm:** Sherlock...  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:39pm:** Tell me.  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:40pm:** .. No. I'm sorry.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:41pm:** Is Mycroft threatening you?  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:42pm:** No one's threatening me.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:42pm:** Then why won't you tell me?  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:43pm:** Just.. hurry home.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:43pm:** I hardly think 'hurrying' will make much of a difference after two and a half years.    
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:43pm:** Hurry anyway. He needs you.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:44pm:** Why?  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:44pm:** You're his best friend.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:44pm:** That's not why. Tell me what's going on.  
 **Text from Molly Hooper 6:46pm:** I'm sorry.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:46pm:** Tell me!  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:49pm:** Molly, reply.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:51pm:** Answer!  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:52pm:** Molly.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:54pm:** Molly.  
 **Text from Unknown Number 6:57pm:** Molly!  
 **Text from Unknown Number 7:00pm:** ...Fine. I'll find out for myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. ^^ Next chapter will probably-most-likely be from Sherlock's POV.


End file.
